Death of the Afterlife
by UglyTruth
Summary: Klaus and Katherine have their twisted history together. Now that he has found her after five centuries, nothing will stand in the way of his reunion. Continuation of 'Know they Enemy'.


Numbness fades and dull pain substitutes in its place.

Her eyelids feel unnaturally thick and unresponsive as she forces her body to wake.

She is disoriented, clumsy and she fears it more than anything.

The attack has stunned her and above anything, she despises losing the upper hand in a situation that should be hers to command.

Murmurs pass through the haze that has quenched the clarity in her head and she fights to make sense of them. Chants, words, whispers that carry magic but are all unfamiliar to her ears.

The wood under her palms seems to dip under her weight as she raises herself off the floor, easing her limbs into the task.

Her eyes reflexively pinpoint the voice and bear witness to the warlock who has previously carried out her capture.

She suppresses the desire to snarl and let her predatory nature paint her features with deadly intent. She has yet to assess where she stands in this environment. She has been stunned already today.

Two men. She cannot identify the second, placed on a chair with his back facing her and his face obscured in the shadow of the room. Friend or foe, she doesn't know yet.

Now she realizes the absence of her pendant and her hand brushes against her chest involuntarily. Disbelief and fury pool in her stomach, rash anger that sets her alight but is tinged with wariness. Against the sun she is nothing with the enchanted talisman.

It is the akin to the sensation of a limb having been removed from her – vulnerable. Weakened and susceptible to the equivalent of vampire's kryptonite.

The voice quietens and fades into stillness. The seated one stirs.

Then the sound of duct tape being torn off breaks the sudden silence. She keeps her gaze on the muscled back stretching and contracting underneath the thin shirt as he lifts himself out of the chair.

She notices the glint of a needle slipping onto the floor. She observes the curve of the warlock's spine as he bows in front of the faceless one. She sees how the attention is removed from the witch ritual and slowly latches onto her.

She wills her legs to obey her and stretches them carefully as she stands. The men have both turned to her and she is taken aback to see that it is somebody she is familiar with.

Or perhaps not so familiar after all.

"Alaric" she breathes because she momentarily loses control of her curious mouth. This is all entirely too absurd.

The local vampire hunter, working with an extremely skilled witch at his disposal to capture her? The picture does not want to complete itself in her head and she ensures her expression reflects the questions forming inside.

He's coming closer and suddenly the air is freezing in her throat because there is something so grotesquely wrong about his entire being. The manner in which he moves, the satisfied glow in the eyes maybe it is even the shadows that bathe most of him in a darkness that she has never noticed until now.

Something is out of place and the longer she stands in her spot, the more evident it becomes.

She holds his gaze for as long as she can stand before she bolts. She does not even consider that the warlock may interfere, so strong is her desire to escape the room.

The door barely holds in its hinges as she tears it aside but the barrier does the job in its place.

The invisible but tangible wall propels her backwards and she does not need to break the windows to know the magic shield surrounds the apartment.

She holds in the curses rising in her throat, closes her eyes, breathes and turns to face her death.

He has caught up with her at his relaxed human pace and she becomes aware that her stunt must have looked pathetically desperate. She hides any fleeting embarrassment behind her usual cold eyes as she returns his consistent stare.

The vibes he emits now that they are in close physical range have her body tensing although the friendly face of a young history teacher deceives her.

He finally comes to a halt, not trapping her but not a step away. His dark eyes seem to fill hers with their newfound intensity.

"Zdravey, Katarina"

She is shocked silent by the greeting in a language she has not spoken for decades. His fluent Bulgarian is alight with cheerful slang that carries a pleased vibe.

And her name…

He doesn't even need to complete it. Katarina Petrova. Almost ancient, that identity of hers. She had wanted to shed it many decades back but it stayed around through those whose lives' she'd marked one way or another.

Her birth name off his lips is more seductively spoken than any of her previous lovers and again the absurdity strikes her. This is not real. This cannot mean what her distant memories scream at her.

After all, how can Alaric know? How can he anticipate what will have her clench inside like a stake has been driven straight through her gut?

Simply – he can't.

Pieces are falling, tumbling into their position on the image that is conjuring itself up on her inner eye. A picture of a face that is both terrifying and beautiful and wears the same expression as the human in front of her.

She tilts her face out of his grip when his hands move to rest on her cheeks but with cunning precision, he twists it back around to expose her to him. His pinkie applies a subtle but undeniably present pressure on her pulse point.

The eyes remain locked onto hers and she refuses to cave under their weight, aware of the roughened skin of his fingers firmly curving against her face and the proximity of him. She waits, frustration at her bewilderment swirling through her. She waits for anything that she can deem an explanation for this.

The corners of his mouth shift upwards, the smile stretching over his face as he studies her.

"I have missed you," he whispers.

It's an unfulfilled threat coated in sweet promise and longing.

Every last one of her hairs stands on end. She can feel her eyes grow unintentionally wider in her face.

A tsunami breaks over her and she fails to breathe anymore because the onslaught of waves, carrying emotions that she had long forgotten about, batters onwards.

When she gasps out a response it possesses not a fraction of her typical sultry confidence but emerges as a strangled denial.

"Klaus"

The face that cloaks his demon soul breaks into a wider smile and she desires nothing more than to die where she stands when his thumbs brush against the sensitive skin underneath her eyes, tracing the dark veins that emerge only when she hunts.

His presence is like poison and it takes her entire will not to let herself shake in his grasp. She is certain now - her existence will be extinguished like a candle that melts down until it snuffs out.

"Please, stay a while longer," he croons; trailing his hands leisurely down her neck until they rest on the wrists that are rigid at her sides.

This time she flinches when the warm fingers softly slide around her skin and the satisfaction in his smile tells her he has desired that reaction.

She knows it is wise to remain impassive so she limply allows him to guide her back into the room, wishing to break as the door is closed behind them.

The request, full of fake politeness that is word for word a memory of their past together, makes her want to tear herself out of his loose grasp and retreat to the opposite end of the world.

Just as she has done for over five centuries.

She can't loosen her gaze on his features, watching every movement of his body as he leads her into the corner where he has abandoned the chair.

The hands on her leave and he swivels the seat around to face her, hands on the backrest and still wearing that welcoming smile that speaks nothing of his intentions.

A slight incline of his head and she can tell it would be wise to follow his beckoning instead of waiting to be asked twice.

With all possible dignity, she takes her place, painfully aware of his breath ghosting over her head and how her body is revealed to him in this position. She almost anticipates a weapon stabbing through the back of her neck.

His hands have found her arms again and travel upwards. She remains as though petrified as his human hands curl across her neck. Her knuckles are clenched white on the arms of the chair.

No squeezing, just the man's touch on her skin but it sends her all nerves snapping taught inside.

She focuses on the bookshelf on the opposite wall, reading titles, admiring colours, anything to distract from the agony of this. All the while, she knows he is just playing with her. This is nothing.

He says her name again, softer, closer to the shell of her ear and she can feel his smile grow against her throat.

"I'm surprised you didn't catch on earlier. Isobel was not the most secretive person but she was so conveniently involved with you, I couldn't resist seeking her out" he adds, drawing away from her body only to step around the chair to admire his victim from a distance.

She schools her voice to regain its normal tone before she replies, not missing the way he uses past tense. "You knew I was in Mystic Falls"

It's not a question. She has learned long ago that she will never receive direct answers anyway.

"I've been watching a long time and, I admit, it is extremely boring to interrogate person after person until you find one that is not worthless information but just recently, I had a stroke of luck with that gorgeous little thing you have befriended. She had everything I needed"

"Isobel said it was impossible to find you," she retorts, raising her chin. She does not want to hear of betrayal, it will only infuriate her further at her own stupid oblivion.

"I make exceptions," he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest, "I do hope she is a decent driver. We wouldn't want Elena dead too, now, do we?"

She takes a moment to digest all of that. Isobel has probably sold her out, whether willingly or not. She has also been acting under Klaus' orders the last time she saw her. She's returned to town not to bail her out but to deliver her directly to the hunter. Now, Isobel is also dead.

As she soon will be.

She is silent but it does not seem to bother him. The warlock has returned from whatever room he has disappeared into before and hovers behind Alaric's body like a shadow.

Klaus grants him his attention and she considers snapping the human body's neck. Perhaps it would put an end to this insanity. It would surely not rid her of him entirely but grant her enough time to escape again. She doubts it will kill him permanently.

But the warlock is present and that alone has her staying seated under the light of the lamp, scheming but never moving a muscle.

The dark-skinned man is speaking decisively, mentions how he wants to immobilize her with vervain, and she wants to tear his head off his shoulders for suggesting it but she doesn't speak it.

Klaus roams those dark eyes over her again and as before, she can't tell what they say.

So when he tells his companion to do what he must to restrain her without using the drug on her, she knows that he will want her conscious and alert to toy with her mind.

He wants to break her before he murders her.

She snaps then.

Lunges out the chair and latches herself, not onto Klaus, but the warlock who doesn't react as fast as he did before but goes down with the momentum.

Klaus does not move a muscle as she slams the man's head against the ground to knock him unconscious but is hindered by the psychic blast she receives that has her reeling in pain.

His personal witch can hold is own in a fight, he knows that. That is why he chose him to accompany him to Mystic Falls.

She remains on her hands and knees when the pressure in her skull eases as the magic lets up. The room is filled with her angry panting and that of the man keeping her at bay.

Klaus simply chuckles. He only marvels at how beautifully desperate she becomes in his presence. Especially considering he is not even posing in his natural form but using a borrowed body.

"Katerina, Katerina," he softly scolds her as she staggers back to her feet with her hair ruffled and dress crumpled, "Don't make me punish you sooner than I have planned. It will just make your day more miserable"

He wears his smile again. He is starting to love the way it makes her shrink away, even if it is just a minute shiver down her back.

He approaches her again and he notices how she swallows and how her body coils further with each step.

He is a foot away and suddenly her arms shoot up to grip his head. He knows this position and his command falls sharp as glass from his tongue as he makes eye contact with her. Before his warlock can react, before he can raise his own hands to protect this body, he uses what he knows best – the force of his mind.

"Don't."

She stills mid-movement, precariously close to breaking his human neck on its shoulders. His compulsion keeps her frozen even though he can see her pushing against it, the strain bringing out a vein on her temple. She has no chance against an Original.

The witch is anxiously shifting at his side, dying to unleash his power on his victim but Klaus is impatient now. Apparently, his little pet needs a lesson before she will agree to co-operate. He will be the one to engrave his message on her, not his minion.

With a gesture of his hand, he shooes the man out of the room, all the while never breaking eye contact with the immobile vampire. Silence reigns again, broken only by the heavy breathing of his attacker as she tries to break his hold.

He gently guides her hands away from his head and places them in his grip, entwining them with his own in front of her eyes. He can read disappointment behind her cold façade. He knows she has always despised being undermined.

"Poor soul," he tells her, "So determined to begin with your destruction"

He raises their joint hands to his lips, pressing a light kiss on her fingers. He absorbs this sense of control over the woman he has sought out for five hundred years. It is almost tangible and he wants nothing more than to devour it as he will devour her until there is nothing left.

"Patience," her murmurs against their hands, his breath breezing over her skin. If she were not frozen solid in her place, she would rip them away from him.

It seems out of nowhere that he produces that he produces the slim wooden object and plunges it into the flesh beneath her collarbone, over her heart.

She cannot fathom how he moves so rapidly, partially freeing her hands to whip out the weapon within the blink of an eye.

She gasps but cannot double over as his gaze forbids her to give into her body's instinctive reactions. She is physically incapable of cringing in the agony that radiates out from her injury. She can barely look at the wound that spills rivers of blood as he removes the pencil from the small hole.

He examines the bloodied piece of stationary with interest before slipping it into his back pocket again. Her whimper of pain as the splinters and graphite make the wound burn goes unnoticed.

It's beautiful, the red staining her skin, seeping into her clothes. He cannot wait to cover her in it completely.

He cocks his head sideways, surveying his handiwork.

"Today's lesson, no attacking the teacher. You never know what he might carry on him"

Oh yes, he will torture and play with her. Just as she decided so wrongly to play cat-and-mouse with him all these centuries.

She will pay. Starting today.


End file.
